Cursed Hearts

Chapter One: The Blood Moon’s Daughter The night air in Crescent City felt like velvet against Chloe Lee’s skin—soft, deceptive, hiding the thorns beneath. From the balcony of her family’s sprawling manor, she could see the city lights glittering like a thousand watchful eyes. People who whisphered secrets, and Chloe knew better than anyone Tonight, the blood moon hung low, swollen and crimson, washing the streets and rooftops in a haunting glow. The Lee family had always been careful on nights like this. Red moons were omens, reminders of the curse running in their bloodline—her bloodline. Chloe leaned against the iron railing, her long fingers curling around it. The cool bite of metal grounded her, reminding her that she was still flesh and bone, not just a name in a legend. She closed her eyes for a moment and whispered the words her grandmother had forced into her since childhood: "Every love you touch will wither. Every man who loves you will bleed." A cruel inheritance for a girl who once believed in fairy tales. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, dragging her back into the present. Chloe didn’t need to check the screen to know who it was—her ex. The one who had promised her the world and then stolen her heart only to hand it, broken, to her own sister. A bitter smile ghosted across her lips. She let the phone vibrate, then finally pulled it out. One message. Two. Five. All unread. All begging for her attention. She opened one just long enough to see the words: “It was a mistake, Chloe. I love you, not her.” Pathetic. She deleted the messages with a swift swipe of her finger, her chest hollow. There had been a time, not long ago, when words like that would have melted her. But that girl was gone—the naive Chloe who believed love was a safe thing, a gentle thing. She had been burned, and now there was nothing left but ash and a heart wrapped in barbed wire. “Still brooding, little star?” The voice came from behind her, smooth and teasing, with an edge of familiarity that always annoyed her. Chloe didn’t turn. “Go away, Lila.” Her elder sister stepped onto the balcony, a glass of wine in her manicured hand. Lila Lee was breathtaking in the way poisonous flowers were—rich, enticing, and deadly beneath the petals. Everyone in Crescent knew she wasn’t truly a Lee, at least not by blood. She was the child of an affair their mother had tried to bury, a living reminder of betrayal. “I came to check on you,” Lila said, though her smirk suggested otherwise. “Father’s guests are arriving, and it wouldn’t do for the Lee heiress to look so… tragic.” “I’m not the heiress,” Chloe replied flatly, eyes still on the blood moon. “You are. You’ve always made sure of that.” Lila’s laugh was low and cruel. “Maybe. But everyone knows Father favors you. Sweet, innocent Chloe.” She tilted her head, her smile sharp. “Except you’re not so sweet anymore, are you?” Chloe turned finally, her gaze cold. “Keep pushing, Lila. One day, you’ll find I bite harder than you expect.” Their standoff lasted a long moment before Lila drained her glass and glided back inside, leaving behind the faint perfume of roses and venom. Chloe exhaled slowly. Her sister’s words didn’t sting anymore. Nothing did. That was the beauty of becoming stone-hearted—no blade could cut what was already carved from marble. Still, she couldn’t shake the unease tonight brought. The blood moon wasn’t just an omen; it was a warning. The sound of engines cut through her thoughts. From the driveway below, sleek black cars rolled in, headlights slicing through the shadows. Chloe’s stomach twisted as suited men stepped out, their presence commanding, dangerous. They weren’t politicians or businessmen, though they often played that part. They were wolves in silk—men who ruled the underworld of Crescent. And at their center was Dorian Xu. Chloe had never met him, though his name carried weight even in her circles. Heir to the Xu syndicate, whispered to be ruthless, untouchable, a devil with angelic eyes. Rumor said his empire was built on fear and fire, though he hadn’t yet inherited the throne from his father. Yet people feared him already. Her gaze fixed on him as he stepped out of the lead car. Tall, broad-shouldered, his cold aura wrapped around him like armor. His clothes were casual enough—black shirt, leather jacket—but he wore them like a crown. Then there were his eyes. Even from here, Chloe could see the unnatural clarity of them. A shade of blue too sharp, too cold, like shards of glacial ice. Eyes that could cut, eyes that could condemn. For reasons she couldn’t name, her breath hitched. “Careful, Chloe,” she murmured to herself, dragging her gaze away. “You know what happens when men look too close.” But fate didn’t care for her warnings and never did